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“I do apologize–as this is our first time having representatives visit our planet since joining the federation, we were not sure what to expect.”
Spock stands in the doorway of a large room and takes in the quizzical scene in front of him.
Beside him, the Vondarian Ambassador wrings his hands together. “And,” he continues, “we were under the impression that the Enterprise was solely a Human vessel.”
The room is so full of color that it takes Spock a moment to register anything beyond that. Slowly, he scans the area. A circle of seven fuschia sleeping bags takes up the center of the floor. There’s a hefty pile of frilled pillows to the side, and next to them is a tall stack of neatly folded blankets. On one end of the room is a projector for holovids and a collection of neatly arranged tapes to choose from. A table lines another length of the room, adorned with a pastel pink tablecloth and piled high with all sorts of vibrant Earth foods–none of which hold any nutritional value. A cooler underneath it lays open and is filled to the brim with glass bottles. Stuffed toys depicting Earth animals cover just about every bare surface of the room.
“As such–” the Ambassador is rambling–“all of the research we conducted was on the sleeping custom of Humans when they are away from home. Not Vulcans.”
Standing on Spock’s other side is Doctor McCoy. From the corner of his vision, Spock can see that his mouth is slightly agape.
Jim steps up from behind them. He gently nudges past Spock and strides into the room, turning around with a wobbly grin. “Oh, Ambassador, this is excellent. You have certainly done your research.”
For the first time all evening, the Ambassador seems to relax, if only slightly.
“We’re very pleased with the arrangements. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
Jim throws a pointed glance first to Spock, then the doctor.
“Yeah,” McCoy says, “this is… great.”
Spock hesitates an extra second before settling on, “While my companions will have to familiarize me with these human sleeping customs, I find no reason to be displeased.”
The Ambassador relaxes another fraction. This time, at least, it’s enough to release a small smile.
“Excellent. Excellent. Well then, I shall leave the three of you to it. Please, sirs. Enjoy your night.”
He turns, and his tail swishes elegantly across the floor.
He closes the door behind him, and McCoy doesn’t wait before throwing his hands up in the air. “Jim, what the hell is this?”
Jim chuckles. The light hasn’t faded from his eyes. “What do you mean, Bones? Isn’t it obvious?”
“The only thing that’s obvious is that they expect me to sleep on the floor,” McCoy grumbles.
Jim’s expression of joy wavers with confusion. “Well, I’m sure Spock recognizes what this is. Spock?”
Spock crosses his arms loosely over his chest and shakes his head. “I do not, Captain.”
The corners of Jim’s lips twitch into a frown. He motions grandly to the rest of the room. “They’ve provided us with everything we need for a sleepover. That’s why they were so insistent we change into our pajamas.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “A sleepover, Captain?”
“Yes. You know…” Jim looks between Spock and McCoy and is apparently discouraged by what he sees. “Spending the night talking, watching movies, having pillow fights…”
“What the hell kind of sleepover is that?” McCoy scoffs. “Sleepovers are about wrestling each other until someone actually gets hurt and then playing video games until the sun comes up.”
Spock feels both of his companions turn their gazes to him expectantly. He straightens his arms back to his sides to avoid shifting his feet. “I am unfamiliar with the concept of sleepovers.”
Jim’s eyes widen. He rushes forward and grabs Spock’s arm, then tugs him further into the room. His hands feel warm, even through the fabric of Spock’s long-sleeved shirt, but Spock brushes the thought aside.
“Well, Mr. Spock, I suppose we’ll just have to show you what a sleepover is like. Isn’t that right, Bones?”
“I don’t think you know what a sleepover is like,” McCoy mumbles. Still, he strolls lazily into the room and begins to walk around the perimeter, investigating. He stops at the table and picks something up–the headset of a baby pink corded phone. The coiled cord pulls tight as he lifts it to his ear. With an exasperated sigh, he drops it back onto its base and picks the whole thing up. The electrical cord dangles uselessly. “This thing isn’t even plugged in!”
“It’s about the atmosphere, Bones.” Jim crosses the room to take it from him. He sets it back down and picks up a bowl of small, colorful candies, which McCoy immediately plucks from his hands.
“Like hell I’m gonna let you sit here and eat a bunch of junk all night.”
Jim sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, and McCoy nods towards a large bowl of popcorn. “Fine. You can have that.”
Jim’s shoulders deflate, then perk up again as he reaches for one of the glass bottles.
“You can have one,” McCoy glares, setting the candies down with just a little too much force. “And then it’s water for the rest of the night.”
Spock stands stiffly in the center of the sleeping bags and watches the exchange. His eyes drop down to the bottle in Jim’s hand as he twists open the cap with practiced hands. It comes off with a pop, and Jim takes a long swig. “Mm.” He wipes his mouth with his other hand, then moves closer to Spock and holds out the bottle. “Have you ever had root beer, Spock?”
Spock stares at the bottle in Jim’s hand. “I have not.”
“Would you like to try it?” Jim tilts his hand slightly, so the top of the bottle points more directly at Spock. It is an offering that Spock makes no movement to accept.
“I would not.”
Jim's lips purse, and Spock stares at them a little too long. But Jim's disappointment only lasts a moment before he says, “So, Bones. Where should we start in Spock’s sleepover education?”
“I don’t think either of us are as invested in this as you are, Jim,” McCoy mumbles.
“We could have a pillow fight,” Jim offers.
Spock raises an eyebrow. “A pillow fight, Captain?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, Spock. You beat the hell out of each other with pillows.” McCoy scoffs. “And I am far too old to take a pillow to the face.”
“You’re no fun anymore, Bones,” Jim pouts. “Where’s your whimsy? Your nostalgia? Don’t you want to relive your youth?”
“My youth is over and gone, and I’m not about to let the Captain get a broken nose the night before an important diplomatic meeting. Especially when my bone knitter is aboard the ship.”
“Well?” Jim throws up a hand in defeat–the one not clutching his soda. “What do you suggest we do instead?”
“I say we put on a holovid and take it easy.”
Jim looks to Spock with pleading eyes. “Surely you wish to do something more exciting, Mr. Spock?”
Spock scans the room. He takes in his surroundings again as he calculates an answer. He isn’t sure what any of these objects are even for.
Finally, he turns back to Jim. “For once, the doctor and I are in agreement. I believe a holovid would be amicable.”
Jim’s shoulders slump. He frowns at Spock in a way that almost makes Spock scramble for something else to do, but then Jim turns to scowl at McCoy instead, and the spell is broken.
“Fine, fine. I know when I’ve lost. But I’m choosing the movie. Is that amicable, gentlemen?”
McCoy shrugs, Spock says nothing, and Jim half-stomps over to the collection of tapes and begins to rifle through them. He selects one and pops it in, then grabs a pillow and drops to the ground. Setting his soda down on the carpet beside him, Jim shifts to laying on his stomach with the frilled pillow in his arms.
With a sigh, McCoy follow suit–he grabs a pillow, then sets it on the ground, then lowers himself slowly to his knees. Painstakingly slowly, he arranges himself on top of the pillow and crosses his legs.
Hesitantly, Spock grabs a pillow and goes to sit next to the other two. He sits with his legs crossed and, not knowing what to do with the pillow, sets it stiffly in his lap.
The movie begins, and Spock does what he can to give it his fullest attention, though he lacks the context of Earth culture that he quickly realizes is needed to fully understand the premise. It turns out not to matter, as Jim proves to be very, very distracting. He flops and rolls around, and within the first fourteen minutes of the move, Spock glances over to find Jim laying on his back and watching the movie upside down. A quick look to McCoy reveals the doctor is resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. His look is one of boredom.
Dutifully, Spock turns back to the movie.
Jim makes it another eight minutes and thirteen seconds before he begins to sigh. He’s still rolling around, and Spock isn’t sure if it’s due to discomfort or something else, but now each movement pulls a small, dissatisfied sound from Jim’s lips.
It only lasts three minutes before McCoy snaps. “If you’ve got something to say, then just come out and say it already.”
“This is boring,” Jim says without hesitation.
“You picked a boring movie,” McCoy counters. “So that’s your own damn fault.”
“You’re the one that insisted on a movie.” In one fluid motion, Jim pushes himself off the floor and onto his feet. He throws a glance at McCoy, who is still watching the movie with a glazed expression before tiptoeing over to the bowl of candies and grabbing a small handful that he promptly shoves in his mouth. Spock can hear the crunch from his spot halfway across the room, but McCoy doesn’t seem to notice.
“Gentlemen–” Jim steps forward and picks up his root beer off its place on the floor, then takes a long drink. “I know what essential sleepover activity we’re forgetting.”
McCoy turns from the movie with bleary eyes. “And what is that, Jim?”
Jim smiles, and Spock watches as his smile grows wider and wider. “Spock needs to make a prank call.”
Spock blinks. His brow furrows. “Jim–”
McCoy snorts. “No, Spock. Maybe Jim is right. You ever prank call someone?”
“I certainly have not–”
“Perfect.” McCoy holds out a hand to Jim. “Gimme your communicator.”
Jim fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over. McCoy flips it open and turns the dial. “Alright, Spock. So, here’s what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna call Scotty. And when he answers, you’re gonna ask him if the warp core is running. Got it?”
Spock blinks again. McCoy hits the button to make the call and quickly pushes the communicator into Spock’s hands.
“Scott here.”
“Mr. Scott.” Spock almost stutters, trying to wrap his head around what’s even happening. “What is the current condition of the warp core?”
Scotty doesn’t hesitate. “Everything is operating as intended, Mr. Spock. There’s no need to be concerned.”
“I see. Thank you for the update.”
Now, there is a beat of silence on the other end. “Is that all you needed, Mr. Spock?”
Spock looks to McCoy, who looks back with a baffled expression. Behind them, Spock can hear Jim snickering.
“I believe it is, Mr. Scott. Carry on.”
Spock flips the communicator closed.
What a strange and illogical exercise.
Jim’s laughter softens into quiet as he puts himself back together. “Bones, I don’t think your explanation was very thorough.”
“Maybe I should demonstrate.” McCoy plucks the communicator from Spock’s hand and flips it open.
Scotty’s voice comes through much less confidently than before. “Is everything alright, Commander?”
“Is your warp core running?”
“Doctor? Well, yes, but why–”
“Then you’d better go catch it!”
McCoy slams the communicator shut again, and Jim’s chuckles grow into proper laughter that sounds like a song to Spock’s ears.
“That,” McCoy says as he holds the communicator back out to Jim, “is how you make a prank call.”
Jim takes the communicator, still chuckling quietly as he tucks it away.
“Now if you’ll excuse me–” McCoy puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself up to standing with a quiet grunt. “I think I've had enough of all this sleepover stuff.”
Jim blinks. “You're going to bed already?”
“I'm old, Jim.” McCoy grabs his pillow and makes his way over to one of the hot pink sleeping bags. He begins to lower himself down into it. “And we've got a busy day tomorrow. I'd rather be awake for it.”
“But the movie isn't even over.”
“I don't want to watch it anyways.”
Jim takes another swig of root beer. “You really are no fun, Bones.”
McCoy pulls the sleeping bag up over his shoulders and rolls over, so his back is facing both Jim and Spock. “I'm not trying to be fun. Now, why don't you teach Spock how to play truth or dare and let me go to sleep?”
There’s a quiet sigh from McCoy as he settles. Jim’s melancholy shifts back to excitement, and Spock raises an eyebrow at him. Quickly, Jim snatches up the popcorn and a second bottle of soda and hurries to sit across from Spock.
“Alright, Spock. Here are the rules.” Jim takes a moment to chug the rest of his first drink, then twists open the top of the second. “We'll take turns choosing truth or dare. If you choose truth, I'll ask you a question and you'll have to answer honestly.”
“As a Vulcan, I would not do anything but.”
Jim grins at him, and, illogically, Spock feels his heart stutter. “Right. And if you choose dare, you have to perform an action of my choosing.”
Spock nods. “I believe I understand. Vulcan children have a similar game.”
Jim looks shocked. “You do?”
“Yes.” Spock shifts the pillow in his lap absently as his thoughts drift. “While there is no dare element, Vulcan children would often take turns expressing harsh truths about one another.”
“Spock.” Jim's lips tighten, then arch into a frown. “Was this a game all Vulcan children played? Or just with you?”
Spock tilts his head as his gaze drifts upwards. “Actually, Captain, I'm not entirely sure.”
Jim nods, then lets out a quiet sigh. “Well I believe you'll find the human version to be more enjoyable. It isn't quite so scathing.”
“I am willing to give it a try, Jim.”
The frown fades from Jim's features. “Excellent. Now, truth or dare, Spock?”
“I select truth.”
“Truth. Alright, let's see…” Jim rubs his hands together. “Perhaps we should start with an easy one. What's your biggest pet peeve?”
Spock feels his expression turn questioning, and Jim rushed to elaborate. “You know–what's a little thing people do that annoys you?”
Without hesitation, Spock answers, “Annoyance is a human emotion.”
“Spock. You're supposed to tell the truth..”
“I simply stated a fact, Jim.”
“Spock.” Jim’s expression shifts, and he looks at Spock expectantly.
Spock sighs. “A small thing that people do?”
Jim nods.
“I dislike when Lieutenant Uhura taps her nails against the console,” Spock says flatly. “It is something she does repeatedly when she sits still for too long.”
There’s a light in Jim’s eyes. His bright smile wobbles. He’s looked at Spock this way countless times, and each time still makes Spock feel like he’s short of breath. “Perfect, Spock. Wonderful. Now–it’s my turn. Ask me.”
Spock sighs. He runs his fingers along the frill of his pillow. “Truth or dare, Jim?”
“Truth, or dare.” Jim rubs his hands together again, glancing at the ceiling as he thinks. “I think, now that you’ve had an example, I should choose truth as well.” He turns his gaze back to Spock. “Truth.”
“Does a sleepover typically involve as much debate as there has been between you and the doctor?”
“That’s not–” Jim’s face tenses in thought. “It should be a personal question. Something you want to know about me, perhaps.”
Spock’s eyebrows arched. “Something I wish to know about you?”
Jim nods excitedly. “Yes. Anything you want.”
Spock considers. There are many things he’d like to know about Jim–but there’s one thing that immediately comes to mind.
“Why are you not in a romantic relationship?”
Jim has a mouthful of soda, and Spock watches as he very nearly chokes. Jim sputters and coughs, then takes another long sip of his drink before turning to Spock with a frantic fire in his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little–you know. Too personal?
“Your instructions were for me to ask anything I wanted to know, and to make it personal.” This game is strange–there are more rules than Spock seemed to realize. “That question fits both of those criteria.”
“Yes, Spock. But this is a game.” Jim rubs his eyebrow, then gestures with his hand. “It should be fun. Lighthearted, even.”
“So my question was not sufficient?”
“I’d think too sufficient would be a more accurate description, Spock.”
“Hm.” Something more personal than his first question, less personal than his second. Where’s the line?
Spock considers. He formulates question after question in his head, but none seem quite right. Finally, with the slightest frown, he turns to look Jim in the eye. “What is your biggest pet peeve?”
Jim sighs. “I strongly dislike when Mr. Chekov sneaks food onto the bridge to eat during his shifts–especially when he chews while talking to me like I won’t notice.”
It feels like incredibly unimportant information. Spock files it away for later.
“Alright, Spock.” Jim smiles softly. “Truth, or dare?”
“As I now understand how truth works, it would be most logical for me to select dare, so that I may understand how that part of the game works as well.”
“So you choose dare?”
“Yes. Dare.”
“Alright. Let me think.” Jim’s eyes scan the room, and Spock can see him internally sorting through every piece of information. As Jim slowly turns, McCoy lets out a single resoundingly-loud snore. Jim’s shoulders straighten, and he turns back to Spock with a grin so wide it warns him that danger is coming “I dare you to prank Bones.”
“You wish for me to prank the doctor? I don’t know–”
“I know you know what a prank is, Spock.”
“Yes, but I do not know how to prank, Jim.”
Jim blinks, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. His hand moves to rest against his mouth, and his thumb worries over his finger. “I suppose I could tell you the prank you should pull?”
“That would be satisfactory.”
Jim nods and keeps worrying his thumb. Suddenly, his eyes light up, and he snaps his fingers. “Put his hand in a bowl of water.”
Spock stares blankly back. “What purpose would that serve?”
“It's a classic prank,” Jim smirks. “It's supposed to make the person wet themselves.”
Spock's head tilts. “I find that unlikely to be effective, Jim.”
“Perhaps not,” Jim says casually, shrugging his shoulders, “but at the very least, it would irritate him to wake up that way.”
Spock sighs. He has no desire to do something so futile, but Jim is looking at him so expectantly.
He removes the pillow from his lap and makes his way towards the table of snacks. The colorful candies are dumped onto the tablecloth in the neatest pile he can manage. Then, he heads towards the bathroom, fills the bowl up with water, and carefully steps over to where McCoy is sleeping. Squatting down, he sets down the bowl, then gingerly picks up McCoy's limp hand and sets it in the water.
He sighs again as he admires his handiwork, then returns to sit cross-legged across from Jim. “Was that satisfactory?”
“Yes, Spock. I think so.”
At least Jim is happy.
“And I think I'll choose dare as well.”
Spock realizes he should have seen this coming–surely he should have anticipated Jim picking dare, at least eventually.
Still, now that he’s seen a dare in action, he cannot possibly produce an idea as nonsensical as is required.
His lips press firmly shut, and he frowns, and Jim frowns with him.
“What’s the matter, Spock?”
“I don’t believe I can provide you with an appropriate challenge.”
“I see.” Jim tilts his head one way, then the other. Spock watches as Jim’s thumb begins to rub against his pointer finger as he thinks.
“Well,” Jim says finally, “Would you like to go a few more times? So that I can provide more examples of how the game works?”
It’s a lifeline–a way out, at least for a moment. Spock nods.
“Alright, Spock.” Jim’s smile returns easily, and it soothes Spock’s anxiety. “Truth or dare?”
Logically, Spock knows that he should select dare in order to gather a wider sample size of what a dare looks like. But, as it is, he has no desire to do another one.
“Truth.”
“Let’s see…” Jim’s weight shifts. “How about… Who was your childhood crush?”
Spock’s eyebrows arch. “I did not have one.”
“You… didn’t?” Jim plucks at the frills of the pillow next to him. “Everyone had a crush, I thought.”
“I was betrothed to T’Pring at a young age.”
“Ah.” Jim looks disappointed, and Spock feels a flash of guilt for making him that way. “Well, that question was a bust.”
“Who was your childhood crush?”
The light returns to Jim’s face, just as it always does. “I had so many. There was a little girl named Daphne, in kindergarten. Then, in first grade, a boy named Eric. In second grade it was–”
From the other end of the room, there’s the clang of a bowl hitting the ground, and McCoy’s gentle snoring stops abruptly.
“Damn it, Jim!”
McCoy rockets upright, his sleeping bag twisted around him. The pink fabric is darker across the center where it pools in his lap.
Jim twists around to see, and Spock can see from the way he’s holding himself that he’s delighted. “Don’t look at me, Bones. Spock did it.”
“Even if that’s true–” McCoy tries to untangle himself, and pulls his arms free. “I can imagine who put him up to it!”
“Did the doctor indeed wet himself?” Spock eyes the damp spot with suspicion. “I must admit I did not expect that to work.”
“I didn’t wet myself, you obtuse half-elf!” He pulls his legs free and stumbles to his feet. “I spilled the bowl of water you put my hand in!”
“I see.”
“I see, he says.” McCoy stomps over to where the two of them sit and flops down between them. “Well, I’m awake now. What are you doing?”
“The captain is instructing me on how to play truth or dare.”
McCoy snorts. “Yeah? And how’s that going?”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “You have already seen the results for yourself, Doctor.”
“Right now,” Jim adds, “Spock is taking a few turns so that he can get a better grasp on the questions to ask and the challenges to give.”
Beneath his expression of discontentment, McCoy almost seems amused.
Jim pats him on the back, harshly enough that McCoy lurches forward. “How about you lead the next round, Bones?”
“Me?” McCoy crosses his arms and sighs, but he looks to Spock anyways. “Alright, Spock. Truth or dare?”
“I choose truth.”
“You’ve already picked truth twice, Spock.” Jim scoots a little closer. “Are you sure you don’t want to choose dare?”
“I am certain.” In fact, Spock has rarely ever been more certain of something.
“It’s fine, Jim. Let him pick what he wants. I’ll make it worthwhile.”
McCoy leans forward, with his arms still over his chest and his t-shirt damp. He studies Spock intensely for a moment, then leans back with a sly smile. “Just a classic truth or dare question, right?”
Jim nods. “Right.”
McCoy juts out his chin. He keeps his gaze steadily on Spock. “Who d’you like?”
Spock pauses, and his brain goes into overdrive. There is a distinct, truthful answer. It may not be entirely true that Vulcans do not lie. But Spock certainly doesn’t lie to Jim, and he doesn’t lie in games where he has been explicitly told he has to tell the truth.
The word, somehow, comes out flat. Normal, even. “Jim.”
McCoy’s grin grows wider, but Jim shakes his head frantically. “No, no, Spock. Among humans–specifically teens–like has a different connotation. What he means is… You know. Who do you like like?”
Spock’s lips part. They suddenly feel very dry. He licks them. “Yes, Jim. I am aware of the colloquial meaning. My answer remains the same.”
Jim’s mouth falls open.
Over their years of friendship, Spock has gotten very good at understanding Captain James T. Kirk. Now, however, he can’t read him at all.
“I–me? Spock, I–”
Spock can feel the dread in his heart. The fear of a rejection that would shatter his whole world–that would mean more than any other rejection he’s ever received. He opens his mouth to take it back, to say that maybe he misunderstood after all–
McCoy picks up the remainder of Jim’s second soda and dumps it over the bucket of popcorn. He leans forward, sets the bottle firmly on the floor between the three of them, and then motions to it with a sweeping hand. “Spock, I’m gonna introduce you to another Earth sleepover game.” His face widens in a dangerous grin, and he says, “Spin the Bottle.”
Jim straightens up.
Spock tries to act like his heart isn’t pounding, like he isn’t desperately trying to calculate the best way to repair what he’s certainly broken. “What are the rules of Spin the Bottle?”
“I’ll explain it as we go.” McCoy’s grin doesn’t waver. “For now, just spin the bottle, and pay attention to who the top of it points to.”
Spock reaches down. WIth a flick of his wrist, he gets the bottle spinning.
It spins for far too long. Jim keeps shifting his weight, and his silence is deafening. McCoy remains unmoving and unbothered.
Finally, it slows, and the bottlehead points towards McCoy.
McCoy stares down at it in silence, and the grin flickers into a frown.
And then he looks up again. “Pass.”
He reaches over, twists the bottle back until the neck of it is facing Jim, and then stands up. “Jim, explain the rest of the rules, will you? I’m going to bed.”
Both Spock and Jim watch in stunned silence as McCoy makes his way over to a new sleeping bag and settles down into it, with his back turned to both of them.
Spock does the only thing he can do. He looks at Jim. And Jim, with his fidgeting hands and flushed cheeks, looks back at him.
“So, the remaining rules of Spin the Bottle.” Jim rubs the back of his neck. He runs a hand through his hair. He worries his lip with his teeth. He sighs, and he shifts, and suddenly he’s looking everywhere but Spock.
“Well,” he says finally, looking to Spock with a gentle smile, “perhaps I should just show you.”
Spock waits, though he isn’t sure what he’s waiting for.
And then Jim shifts his weight again, but this time he moves until he can push onto his knees. He scoots closer, and he rests a hand on the back of Spock’s neck.
It’s a simple touch, but it feels like electricity. And with it, Spock can feel all of Jim’s emotions–a nervous energy, anticipation–
And, stronger than anything else, is affection.
Spock’s heart flutters in his abdomen. Jim leans forward, and he gently leads Spock closer with the hand on his neck.
Before Spock can fully solve the puzzle of what’s happening, Jim brushes their lips together.
And everything clicks into place.
Spock chases after Jim, and suddenly they’re deepening the kiss. Spock feels like he can’t breathe in a way that’s exhilarating, and he can tell through their contact that Jim feels the same way. Jim’s hand settles on his lap as he leans closer–as close to Spock as he can get.
It’s a long time before they pull away, but it’s also far too soon. Jim is taking quiet breaths, and his eyes are illuminated with pure joy, and Spock’s lips still tingle where they’d touched Jim’s.
At first, they just stare at each other. It’s like their brains have short-circuited, and Spock has to rewire his before he can think. Finally, as his fingers reach up to brush his bottom lip, he finds the words to speak to Jim.
“I believe,” he says, “that I enjoy playing Spin the Bottle together.”
Jim laughs–a sound Spock could get drunk on. “That’s good, Mr. Spock.” He leans forward and presses their lips together one more time. “Because I enjoy playing with you, too.”